The Countess’s teasing made the Count shrug his shoulders petulantly.
“Words fail me because she’s too beautiful.”
“I suppose now that I’m not beautiful anymore, you’re asking me to dance more readily.”
The Countess asked, taking the Count’s hand and twirling around.
“You’re more beautiful now. Dancing with you always makes me nervous.”
Just that I’m no longer a complete fool—the Count added, making the Countess laugh again. The dance continued for several minutes, and just as Sahara’s movements became more natural and everyone began to sense something between the two, Cheshire stopped dancing.
“Oh my, your dance ended so soon.”
“Well, given her attire. It seems the Princess was playing a prank. If we kept dancing endlessly, it might look like we’re about to announce an engagement.”
“Aren’t you going to?”
The Countess asked, disappointed. The two looked so good together, and love stories were always enjoyable topics.
“Heaven forbid. Engagement announcements have their proper order. An engagement at a victory party—if such a thing happened, I might really hang myself.”
“Don’t talk about hanging yourself, not with me here.”
The Countess pretended to cry.
“Besides, His Highness the Crown Prince isn’t likely to settle down so easily.”
“Is that really so? There are rumors that he’s treating her quite specially.”
When the Countess whispered this, the Count just laughed and said, ‘Well, well.’
“If His Highness hadn’t been mischievous in the first place, Countess Illoud would have made a perfect entrance and joined the party right away.”
“Oh my, then the reason he’s being so nice…”
“Is naturally to make up for his own mistake.”
The Count had initially been startled, wondering if the Crown Prince was acting impulsively, but was quickly reassured by the Princess’s playful expression.
“Rumors are just rumors.”
At the Count’s assertion, the Countess nodded slightly and asked.
“But… are you really sure?”
Are rumors really just rumors? As the Count was about to make his guarantee, he followed the Countess’s persistent gaze.
“Just now, His Highness entered the balcony with a terribly fierce expression. And only minutes ago, the Viscountess and Viscount Delta went in there…”
Countess Colodova wasn’t the only one watching the tightly closed balcony doors with interest.
§ § § § §
At the sound of the door locking, Sahara blinked and looked at Cheshire. Cheshire stood with his back to the door, staring at her.
His once-neat hair was now completely disheveled. Her lipstick, smeared and messy from his sucking and licking, left her swollen lips flushed and wet. She looked wanton, and seeing her like that, Cheshire felt something dark and hot surge up inside him.
“It’s best to be careful when touching a knight’s body carelessly. If I had been off guard for a moment, I might have cut you.”
Cheshire recited the words Sahara had once said to him—the very first time they met, when he grabbed her hand.
“That was your line. So why did you let the Viscount grab your hand earlier? Did you like him?”
Cheshire’s question sounded angry. Sahara parted her lips to answer.
“No. That level of approach wasn’t something I needed to defend against…”
“Not something you needed to defend against? Up to what point? Until that bastard kissed you, undressed you, and fucked you?”
“No… no, that’s not it.”
Sahara gripped her fallen dress hem and bit her lip. She couldn’t understand why Cheshire, after kissing her, was suddenly angry. In fact, he’d seemed upset even before they locked eyes at the door. Why? Sahara couldn’t even guess the reason for his anger. The tingling in her fingertips from arousal had already faded to coldness.
“I apologize… Please, allow me to leave.”
Sahara rose from the sofa, placing a hand over her chest as she stepped back. Cheshire watched her with cold eyes, and instead of waiting for his permission, she tried to pass him and open the balcony door.
“No.”
Cheshire grabbed Sahara’s hand as she touched the doorknob.
“You’re going to go out looking like that? How many more trash like Viscount Delta do you want to create?”
“…I don’t understand what you mean.”
Sahara looked up at Cheshire, who was blocking her way. He cupped her cheek and rubbed at her smeared lipstick with his thumb. It wasn’t to clean it off or smear it further—it was a caress.
“He got hard listening to you moan. He stood there, his little thing up, staring at you—right up until he ran away.”
“……”
Sahara didn’t know how to respond to his humiliating words. She’d seen Viscount Delta’s erection too—his awkward, stumbling retreat had made it obvious.
“Why aren’t you angry? He got hard looking at you. Does that make you feel good?”
“No.”
Sahara looked into Cheshire’s harsh eyes. She couldn’t understand why his gaze was growing darker with irritation and anger. There had to be a reason, but the look in his eyes was so different from when they’d danced in the hall that her chest ached. It felt like she’d fallen from the sky to the ground in an instant.
“If I did something wrong, I’m sorry. Please punish me if you wish.”
At Sahara’s apology, Cheshire squeezed her hand tightly. Was the apology the wrong move? He seemed even angrier now. This time, it hurt, and Sahara lowered her gaze.
“…Sorry.”
“Don’t apologize. What did you do wrong?”
“……”
But she didn’t know how else to ease his anger. She didn’t even know why he was angry in the first place, so she had no way to fix it.
As she lowered her gaze and fidgeted with her fingers, the strength in his grip slowly faded.
“You look like you’d do anything if I ordered it.”
He let go of her, muttering as if to himself.
“If I told you to go roll around with some guy you don’t know, I bet you would. If I told you to suck him off, you would. If I told you to spread your legs, you’d do it.”
His crooked gaze made her skin prickle. She didn’t even know what she was thinking anymore. Humiliation, shame, confusion, resentment—so many emotions mixed together, her chest felt like it was turning to stone.
“…Is that what you’re going to order me to do?”
If he gave an order, she felt she couldn’t refuse. Having lived prioritizing loyalty above all else, she suddenly couldn’t tell right from wrong. It was different from when she only had to swing her sword from afar. She hadn’t thought he might order other things. Should she refuse? Could she refuse?
Sahara looked at Cheshire. Penelope had warned he might be a bad man. As she said, he could be trash, or worse than a beast.
“……”
But if it was an order. Thinking she probably couldn’t refuse, she lowered her eyes and waited for his words.
“Damn it.”
Cheshire cursed under his breath. As she looked up in surprise, he pulled her into an embrace.
“No.”
Held tightly against him, Sahara caught her breath. Cheshire rested his forehead against her neck and spoke like a sigh.
“I’ll never give you orders like that.”
Sahara bit her lip at the feel of his breath on her shoulder. She couldn’t tell if it was his heart pounding or her own that trembled so. Their eyes met, and this time his lips touched hers slowly. His lips grazed hers slightly, as if licking, asking permission.
“If you hate it, kick me. Hit me. No, just cut my throat.”
You’re good at that—Cheshire whispered.
“…I can’t.”
Cutting his throat was unthinkable. Even the faint scar on his cheek caught her eye. Even though she’d made that wound before she knew him.
“Do it. That’s my order.”
Please stop me if you hate this—he whispered again as he kissed her.
It was a gentle kiss, like courtship. He tapped her lower lip, making it part slightly, then licked and sucked. His words about stopping him if she hated it seemed to have melted away somewhere. Did she hate it? Did she not hate it? There was no time to think about such things.
Sahara hesitated before slightly sucking his lip in return. Chup—at the brief sound and sensation of lips meeting, Cheshire pulled back and chuckled.
“Really. I want to mock how any man could fall for such clumsy moves.”
He pulled her closer and sighed.
“But I can’t help falling for them.”
Sahara looked into Cheshire’s eyes. Cheshire covered his mouth and groaned.
“Let’s head back for today.”
I should end today’s foolishness here—he jumped over the balcony railing. Then he reached out his hand to her, as if telling her to grab it and jump. There was no real need to take his hand. The height was only shoulder-level, and she could jump safely from heights dozens of times higher without injury.
But Sahara took his hand.
Cheshire supported her firmly.
“If we leave already… Count Colodova will be angry. And everyone else…”
While it wouldn’t matter if she left, everyone would be disappointed if Cheshire disappeared. Though she hadn’t been fully aware while dancing, she could tell everyone was watching him. The gazes of women behind fans, men holding glasses—all were directed at him.
“Doesn’t matter. I can’t throw you into that wolf den.”
Even releasing a newborn chick would be less dangerous than you—Cheshire said casually.
“Wolf den… you say.”
“Not only did you let a man into the balcony without knowing what kind of place it is, you just stood watching when someone grabbed your wrist, not knowing if they were dangerous or not.”
“…But.”
While she might not know about balconies, the one who grabbed her wrist most often was Cheshire himself.
“Ah, right. I’m the most dangerous one.”
Cheshire acknowledged lightly as he walked toward the line of carriages. At his gesture, a servant opened the carriage door.
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